'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
by
A.E. Housman
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| 'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town |
| The golden broom should blow; |
| The hawthorn sprinkled up and down |
Should charge the land with snow.
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| Spring will not wait the loiterer's time |
| Who keeps so long away; |
| So others wear the broom and climb |
The hedgerows heaped with may.
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| Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge, |
| Gold that I never see; |
| Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge |
That will not shower on me.
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